Dead Squad: book 4 - Frozen
by mandowriter
Summary: The fourth installment of the ongoing series, chronicling the missions, challenges and dangers faced by Taler Galaar, ex-republic commando RC-1133, as he struggles to find his way in the galaxy. Given a mysterious mission to the outer edge of the rim, something does not feel right to the young soldier. Will his trust in his new adopted father survive the hidden secrets of Hoth?
1. Chapter 1

**Part 1**  
**Taking on Cargo**

_Cato Neimoidia System_  
_Cato Neimoidia_  
_City of Zarra_

The inverted city clung precariously to the under side of the vast sweeping stone arch. Buildings as tall as some of the sky towers on Coruscant lanced downwards through the misty air, lights twinkling on each floor as day began to break, a storm settling over the city, and the darkness of night fading to a steely grey. Towards the western end of the archway, landing pads jutted out from an unassuming, bland rectangular building, and the first few spots of rain silently began to fall on the yellow, stone platform, darkening the dusty ground. A door opened, barely noticable in the gloom, and a dim orange light spilled out onto the landing pad, a solitary figure leaning out into the cool morning air, sweeping their eyes across the cloudy sky.

Troed Nebray, stores clerk and loading bay supervisor for Tre'm Traders, sighed as he watched the storm clouds rolling across the city. He had never liked rain, and would normally have been in his office at this time, checking the books, and making sure that every credit was accounted for, like any good Neimoidian. But a last minute change to the cargo schedual had come through the night before, with explicit instructions direct from Relnar that he be the only member of staff there. The others were to be given the morning off. He had not liked the idea, the reason he enjoyed being the supervisor was because it meant he could stay safe and dry in the office while other, less qualified beings did the heavy lifting.

A flash of lightning crackled through the clouds, a blinding strobe of light accompanied by the boom of thunder as it echoed around the buildings. The door beside Troed shuddered as the sound swept across the platform.

Something descended through the clouds, the roar of their ion drives slicing through the rumbling storm, and the glow of their exhaust vents like a flare-bug in the gloom. Running lights blinked on either side of the ship as it dropped suddenly beneath the clouds and raced across the sky towards the landing platform. Troed inhaled sharply as he gabbed a heavy coat and tugged it tightly around his chest, sealing out the weather that shrouded the hanging city, and stepped out onto the platform. The storm grew stronger by the second, and the winds began to tear across the landing pad, whipping the seams of the coat and sending the rain falling at a steep angle.

He reached the control box set on the side of the landing platform and ripped open the stiff door, reveaing the landing lights control. Flicking the big switch, pulses of light flared into life around the circular pad, signalling to the ship, giving directions for landing. He raced back towards the door, tucking his head into their chest and hunching his shoulders against the driving storm. Another flash shattered the grey sky like a broken mirror, and rumbling echo of thunder bouncing off the sky towers around him. He reached the doorway just as the roar of the ships ion drives grew to deafening levels, and he turned to see it pitching sharply upwards, its landing struts extending beneath the hull, and the whole ship dropping gently onto the landing pad.

It was nothing special. The ship was an older class corellian freighter, a YG-4210 class if his memory served. It always paid to know your ships. It was almost a nessessity in his job. If he knew what type of ship was coming, he could easily extrapolate the amount of cargo they could legaly carry. This one had a fairly large cargo storage capacity, but something about it looked off. Certain lines were not as they should be, which gave the impression that the ship had been extensively modified. But the modifications had come at a price. The hull was worn, and battered, and the ominous star shaped scorch marks of blaster impacts seemed to cluster around the exhausts and the cockpit. Rust spots clung to the edges of the panelling, and the port side airlock seemed to have been damaged. All in all, Troed struggled to see how this bucket of bolts was still flying.

Rain lashed against the upper hull, hammering against it like pebble, the droplets sizzling and hissing loudly as the cold water evaporated against the overheated engin cowling. The water ran like a waterfall across the smooth upper hull, reaching the edges and cascading noisily onto the landing pad. A pained, metalic creaking rippled from the landing struts as they settled, taking the weight of the unlaiden cargo freighter, and a dull thunk rang out through the hull as the loading ramp seal disengaged and it slowly lowered down to the platform.

Nothing happened. The ramp locked in its open position, but no one emerged. Shadowy figured seemed to move around in the cockpit, their features blurred by the polarized canopy and the rain that pelted the outside. Troed began to grow impatient. He had only given the other workers a few hours off, hoping to have the task sorted and forgotten about as soon as possible. He had already been waiting in the loading bay for at least an hour before they had shown up.

Troed squinted through the lashing rain, and his eyes widened in fear. A figure in white Mandalorian armour descended the ramp, the ominous red 'T' visor turning towards him and seeming to fix him with a deathly stare. They looked around carefully, and then, happy that no one was watching, emerged from beneath the hull of their ship and crossed the landing pad towards him. As they neared, he realied how tall they were, and the broad shoulders made them look like an impassible wall. A single stipe of red ran down the centre of the chest plates, and two heavily modified blasters were slung on either thigh.

They came to a stop directly in front of Troed, and they glared down at him, amost as though they were wondering what exactly this creature that stood before them was meant to be. Either that or they were deciding the most expedient way of disposing of him. Troed decided he prefered the first option.

"I believe you have some cargo for us?" The mandalorian said, his voice projected through the helmet with a menacing growl. Troed felt his stomachknot inside. Us? He thought. There's more of them? Supressing a shiver that ran down his spine and hoping to pass it off a nothing more than the cold, he smiled up at the armoured face and beckoned him towards the door. Reaching inside, he tapped another button that was recessed into the wall, and a section of the landing pad opened up beside the freighter, a service lift rising up through the hole and revealing the large stack of crates.

"It's all yours," he yelledover the howling of the wind.

"Don't you want to see our papers?" The mandalorian asked. Troed looked up at him for a moment, seeming to consider this. But eventually, he just shook his head.

"I trust you," he laughed.

"I wouldn't," the mandalorian replied. He shrugged exageratedly and turned away, heading towards the pile of crates, and slowly began to haul each one up the loading ramp into the ship. His movements, though fairly brisk, seeme to be cautious, and every now and then he would stop and scan the towers that reached up towrds the stone arch high above them that held up the city.

A speeder darted out from around the nearest sky tower, and Troed saw the mandalorian's hand drop instantly to the blaster that was holstered on his thigh, his head snapping upwards. Something had him on edge, and there was nothing that unnerved him more than a heavily armed and paranoid mercenary. He edged himself a little further into the door, and counted down the crates left, knowing that the sooner they were loaded, the sooner he would be rid of them and back to his normal everyday routine.

The Mandalorian strutted down the ramp one last time, and grabbed the final crate, steering it up the ramp and out of sight. Troed flicked the switch again and the service lift descended into the floor, the hatch sealing up. A deep rumbling sound grew from the freighters exhausts, and as the loading ramp sealed into place, the freighter lifted off its landing struts and swept away, vanishing into the stormy sky above him.

Turning around, he closed the door, blocking out the storm. He slipped the coat from his shoulders, hanging it up in the locker beside the door and headed up the stairs towards his office. Taking his seat, he saw the blinking light of a waiting message and as he activated the comms unit, a small hologram flared into life on the desk.

"Did the transfer go smoothly?" Relnar's smooth voice asked, the small image of him sitting in his chair on Troed's desk.

"All done," Troed replied.

"Good," Relnar sneered. "Thank you, Troed. You did well."

"Yes, sir," Troed nodded. Relnar smiled at him and the image faded away, the comlink shutting down. Troed felt relief flood over his body, and he allowed himself a moment to recline in his chair. He closed his eyes and felt his whole body relax.

"You keep interesting company," a voice cooed from behind him. His eyes shoot open and he went turn around but an audible click echoed out from the gloom and he froz instantly, recognizing the sound of a blaster being primed. "I wouldn't move if i were you," the smooth, sultry voice whispered to him from the back of his office.

He took her advice, and stared blanky ahead of him.

"Mandalorians, smugglers, and a seemingly well to do 'gentleman' who likes to hide his own cargo shipments from those in his employ. How very perculiar. Is that a normal day in the office, or is today something special?"

Footsteps began to approach him from behind and a slender, feminine figure stepped into view, her body covered in green mandalorian armour. She sat herself down on the desk in front of him and lowered the blaster she held in her hand towards his head, stopping directly between her eyes. He stared down the barrel, his lower jaw quivering in fear.

"So tell me, what's in those crates?"

...

_YG-4210 freighter "Trail-breaker"_  
_Cato Neimoidia_  
_Quellor Run Trade route_

Breaking orbit, Taler glanced up at the monitors above his head as it began scrolling coordinates for their jump to hyperspace. The ship shuddered lightly as they broke free of the atmosphere, the lashing rain on the canopy stopping suddenly as they tore through the clouds into pale blue skies, which just as suddenly faded away into the speckled blackness of space. Turning the controls, he angled the small freighter away from the planet. Reaching up for the switches above his head, he transfered the coordinates to the navi-computer. It beeped sharply, and the screen in the middle of the forward console lit up as it began plotting a course. The ship was more than capable of plotting its own course, and as there was nothing else to do now except wait, he locked the yolk into its cradle and leaned back into his chair.

Exhaling sharply and shifting uncomfortably in the seat, he felt the feeling of unease still clinging to the back of his mind. Something did not sit right with him, and he could not shake the sensation that he was being watched. Even when he had been loading up the cargo onto the ship, he could feel unseen eyes boring into the back of his skull, hidden somewhere in the countless towers of the upsidedown city. All his training had been screaming at him to find the nearest cover and ready himself for the inevitable attack, and even though it had not come, and the hand-over had gone without incident, he still did not feel comfortable removing his armour. It clattered noisily as he moved, plates scraping against plates, his helmet lying on the seat behind him the only exception.

Kyr'am had simply put it down to being in Seperatist space, and Taler's old allegiance to the Grand Army of the Republic made it an obvious conclusion. After all, he had been trained from birth to fight for the Galactic Republic in their war against the seperatists droids, and to unquestioningly obey orders given to him by the grand army and their generals - the Jedi. He sneered visibly at the very thought of them. There was a hatred burning so deeply within him, that he was certain one day he would explode like and incendiary.  
Perhaps it was just a lingering thought from the life he had before, before he 'died'. But Taler wasn't sure.

Things had been icy between him and Kyr'am since they had departed Nar Shaddaa, and they had not spent more than a few minutes in each others company since. Staring out through the canopy, Taler still worried. He wanted to trust Kyr'am, after all, he owed his life to the man. But trust was earnt, not something that was unquestioningly given, and dispite the times they had worked together on bounties, and had covered each others six, there was still a niggling fear at the back of his mind that he was keeping secrets from him.

The doubts that filled his mind seemed to be growing, spreading into older memories, and warping them in its devious path. Why had he trusted anyone? After all, nearly everyone in his life had lied to him. The Kaminoans had told him he was bred to be the best, and yet at the slightest flaw he had seen whole batches of clones disposed of. The training sergeants that had trained them had told them they were more than men, and then they had partiipated in life fire exercises, targeting them, putting them down as though they were nothing but cattle.

And then there was the Jedi. He had been told they were tactical geniouses, masters of strategy and cunning and leaders that could forsee any counter move before the enemy had even thought about it. And yet, they had cost him his brothers lives. They had used him and then cast him aside.

Was that something that was at fault with him? Had the Kaminoans messed with his genes and made him easier to dupe? Had they purposefully made him gullible? Anger flashed through his body as he tried to close down the thoughts that seemed to be mocking him, figures from his past all glaring back at him from beyond the canopy, laughing at him.

He looked away and glared down at his hands. His left hand was bunched up tightly around the arm of the chair, but the flesh covered metalic fingers of his right hand had sliced through the bantha-hide leather and were buckling the metal support beneath, leaving deep gouge marks. Straining to open his hand, relieving the tension that had built up in his stiffening body, he pulled his hand away and held it up in front of his face, studying it closely. The metal of the arm rest had begun to tear into the synthetic flesh that hide the robotic components beneath, revealing the tips of the metalic fingers. He sighed, wearily.

Perhaps this was all he was meant to be, a 'wet-droid' as some of the instructors had called them. Disposable and easily replaced. He was nothing, and thats why they had left him there to die. Maybe it would have been for the best.

"You okay, Tal'ika," Kyr'am's voice called out to him. Taler's eyes shot up towards the canopy, and the reflection of his adopted father was watching him from the door at the back of the cockpit, concern over every inch of his middle-aged features. His hands seemed to have stopped in mid-clean, both hands hidden inside an oily rag. It was one of the few occations when he was not wearing his armour, and it made him look smaller and narrower than he was normally, but Taler knew better than to make assumptions based on appearances.

A gently nudge against his arm made him look down and he stared down into the single photo-receptor of the eccentric astromech droid, Sparky, by his side. He tweeted sofly as he shifted back and forth, looking up like a loyal pet.

"I'm fine," Taler said a little too quickly. He forced his face into the form of a warm, confident smile, but knew that he could not hold it for long. "Got a bit of damage on my hand. Must have snagged on one of the crates," he lied. Avoiding eye contact with Kyr'am, he patted the chirping astromech droid on top of his domed head and rose from his seat, scooping up his helmet and squeezing past his apoted father as he left the cockpit. "Going to fix it."

"Okay, son," Kyr'am replied. "Are we all set?" He asked.

"Navicomputer is working out the last few lines of code for the jump to hyperspace," Taler said, only half turning back to face him. He wished he could understand this feeling that was welling up inside him. He felt so angry, and so alone, but he could not identify the emotions behind it. It was tearing at his insides like a blade, and the pain was unbearable. He had only felt that pain twice before: the first had been when his unit had been teamed up with another group of clone commandos for a training exercise, and they had abandoned them to 'enemy fire'. His unit had failed the exercise, and they had been on the brink of being terminated by the Kaminoans who saw their failure as a sign of being defective. It was only when their training sergeant had stepped in and given them another chance that they had survived.

And the second had been that fateful day when they had shipped out to Geonosis when they had been deployed in the opening salvo of the clone wars. He had lost everything, all because the Jedi had turned their back on him. The only thing it had left him with was an uncontrollable rage, and the urge to find them, and kill them.

Taler had never been able to trust any other beings - clones or otherwise - since. Until Kyr'am, anyway. But now even that trust was under threat.

"It should be ready in a few seconds," Taler added finally, staring intently at the corner where the deck plating met the walls, the thought of the Jedi - those force-using freaks - making his blood boil in his veins. It took all his control to keep it hidden.

"You're a good lad, Tal'ika," Kyr'am said softly. The words stung. Taler forced himself to look up, compressing his lips in an awkward smile as every muscle in his body tensed with anger.

Turning away, he walked as fast as he could down the corridor, rounding the bend and vanishing from view. The pain grew with each new heartbeat, and it swirled around inside him, another wave of anger flooding through his body. But this time it was directed at himself. The surge of darkness raced through his head, and in a burst of uncontrolled fire, his fist shot out and slammed into the bulkhead, leaving a dent in the metal.

He felt a flash of fear race through his body, and for the first time in his unnaturally short life, he began to worry that he might be losing control.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**  
**Communication troubles**

_YG-4210 freighter "Trail-breaker"_  
_Hyperspace_

"How we doing, Sparky?" Kyr'am yelled up from the crawlspace that was set beneath the cockpit deck. A hatch had been opened behind the navigation console, and a stack of tools were perched precariously on the edge of the hole. The rusted and dented astromech stood between the pilots and copilots seats, the data spike connected to the main console, rotating back and forth as it accessed the ships sensor and communications array.

There was still something interfering with the comms systems, a layer of static that they could not isolate was being pumped out through the emmiters. Kyr'am didn't like it, scared that it would allow others to track them, and he had been trying desperately to isolate it since they had discovered the signal a few hours out of Nar Shaddaa. So far, they had not even been able to isolate where it was coming from, let alone block it. It seemed that every time they got close to it, it would shift to another system and broadcast through another array. Short of shutting down the entire comms system and leaving themselves deaf to the univere, there was nothing else they could do.

The quirky astromech tweeted unhappily, a low, depressed drone.

"Still nothing? Stang," Kyr'am's voice huissed up through the access hatch. He sighed heavily, sounding like a hydraulic seal failing. He had been working in the crawl space for nearly half an hour now, ever since they had made the jump to hyperspace and Sparky had detected another bust of static from the aft comms transmitter array. A full diagnostic had shown nothing, and rebooting the system had done little to clear up the problem, only lower the strength of the signal.

Kyr'am had even thought that it could be interference from the hyperspace generators acting on the comms internal cabling, but the thorough insection of the crawlspace had shown nothing out of place. He was quickly running out of ideas.

Stretching up, he gripped the sides of the hatch and hauled himself out, sitting himself on the edge with his feet still dangling down into the pit. Sweat was beading across his furrowed brow, and oil and grease were smeered across his cheeks. Using the oily rag, he wiped away the sweat, leaning back to rest against the navigational console as the cool air of the environmental systems blew across his face.

A troubling thought came to the front of his mind as the air seemed to blow away the concerns of the comms system. He realised that dispite everything - the unknown system glitch, the undetectible signal, and the possibility that they could be tracked if it was not shut down - he did not care about it. Everything that had happened since the incident on board the "Wrath of Telos", all the bad luck and the cautious sneaking around had been building up inside him, but he knew it would quickly come to a head if it was not resolved.

Working on the comms system had given him something to concentrate on, something physical he could use to busy his mind. It was nothing more than a distraction from the real issue that was bothering him.  
Taler.

Something was wrong with him. Ever since he had returned to the ship after their short stay on Nar Shaddaa, he seemed different. He had become closed off, hardly speaking and locking himself away in his quarters or in the cargo bays. It was only a short time, a few hours at best, but a life of following bounties and reading the body language of a thousand species who were on the verge of double crossing you had made Kyr'am an excelent study of behaviour, both conscious and sub-conscious. He wanted Taler to talk to him about what was bothering him, but every time he asked, Taler would slap a smile across his face and find some reason to leave. He was being evasive, but there was no way Kyr'am could think of that would help.

He sighed heavilly, letting his head fall back a little until it rested against the console, his own helmet sat on the seat behind the pilots. Even though he was not wearing his armour, he knew that if ever there was a problem that required suiting up, the last place he would visit would always be the bridge. And his helmet would always be there.

It seemed to stare back at him from across the gloomy cockpit, Sparky forgotten as Kyr'am watched his own reflection in the red tinted T visor. He remembered the first time he had seen his face staring back at him from that forboding, ominous helmet, though that first time it had been green and black. It was so many years ago now that he had almost forgotten. How could he let himself forget?

He had only been sixteen when he had enlisted in the Corellian navy, lying about his age so that he could sign up and get away from his troubles. The ship he had been assigned to barely made it out of the system before it was set upon by pirates. They ransacked the ship, stripping it of everything they could find, and killing all the crew that had not made it to the escape pods. Two pirates had found him cowering in his cabin, and as they had lunged towards him, something had snapped inside him. Without even thinking, his fist jabbed out and he felt it slam into the jaw of the nearest pirate. The second one recoiled, shocked at what had happened, and Kyr'am tackled him to the floor. Grabbing the nearest thing he could, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of a screw driver from the workstation beside him and drove the sharp tip deep into the pirates eye.

The scream had haunted him for weeks, the shrill sound of a man's last wail echoing around him as he closed his eyes. Silence descended and the squirming figure beneath him stopped moving. Blood had smeered across his hands, warm and wet, and as he turned aroun, he saw the second pirate scurrying away down the corridor. Kyr'am scrambled off the lifeless body, backing himself into a corner, unable to tear his eyes away from the dead pirate. He couldn't remember how long he was there, but soon the sounds of the pirates faded away, and the slow, pained groans of the dying ship were all he could hear.

Hours had passed in almost darkness. The ship tumbled silently through the void, the air around him growing colder with each passing breath. The dull, groaning sound of tearing metal echoed through the corridors, followed by a deep thunk of metal on metal. Something had locked on to the side of the hull. Ha the pirates returned to finish the job? His eyes widened and his pulse began to thunder in his ears.

Something moved down the end of the corridor, and Kyr'am felt his heart race. He crept slowly across the now gloomy corridor and gingerly wrapped his hand around the blood-soaked tool, pulling it free of the dead pirate, and holding it out in front of him as a figure appeared. They walked forwards along the corridor, moving from pool of light to pool of light, the weak rays glinting on the edges of their distinctive armour, their hand hovering beside their blaster. The figure stopped just in font of him, and Kyr'am held his shaking hands out, gripping the screw driver like a sword. He looked up and saw his own eyes staring back at him from a T shaped visor, a mixture of fear and anger burning inside him. The figure glanced from him to the dead body beside him, seeming to put two and two together, and nodding approvingly. Without a word, he extended his arm towards Kyr'am, a silent offer of salvation. Kyr'am took it, fighting back tears.

The memories of that day faded away, the cockpit blurring back into focus around him. But the memories of Tyvark Galaar, the mandalorian who had taken him as his own son, lingered in the reflective surface of the helmet. He had accepted him when there was no one left, and he had taught him to be a warrior. It had been so long since he had passed on, but there was not a single day went by without him remembering him, his fathers helmet sitting on the shelf above his bunk, securely locked in his cabin.

"Buir," he whispered, almost to himself. "You made it look so easy. What am i supposed to do?" A questioning burst of tweets reminded Kyr'am that he was not alone on the bridge.

Looking towards the gap between the pilots and copilots seats, he saw the rusty droid observing him, somehow able to make the featurless photo-receptor appear to be brimming with concern. Kyr'am alowed a warm smile to crease his cheeks and an affectionate glow to ripple over his eyes.

"Nothing, Sparky," he said softly. "Just thinking out loud." Turning back towards the helmet, the reflection of Tyvark had vanished. He sighed audibly and he felt his shoulders sag.

Sparky began to chirp again noisily, and as Kyr'am turned to look at him, he saw the monitor above the pilots seat flash into life. They were twenty minutes from the end of their hyperspace jump.

"Well, time's a wasting" he said finally, scooping up the tools around him and hauling himself out of the maintenance hatch. "Thanks for the reminder, Sparky. Maybe you're not a rusted heap of junk after all," he joked, patting the astromech on the top of its domed head.  
Sparky hissed something rude, but Kyr'am just laughed.

"Least you're easy to understand," he sighed.

...

A rectangular, yellow icon flared into life in the top corner of the visor, tracking the small ball that Taler was throwing against the bulkhead in front of him. It bleeped twice, and then switched to green, inicating it had locked onto the ball, identified it as non-threat, and was simply following its trejectory. The visor calibration was complete.

He knew there was nothing wrong with the systems, but it was a force of habit that he had developed. It prevented any down time being wasted, and made sure that every system was within workable parameters. It worried him sometimes how efficient the Kaminoans had made him, and he struggled with the concept of 'free-time', and so felt best to just ignore it. His Mandalorian armour was neatly stacked on the workstation, the newly aquired shock staff from his 'dust-up' on Nar Shaddaa lying beside it, having been stripped down, cleaned and then reassembled. He sat on the bed with his back against one bulkhead, wearing his old katarn armour helmet, throwing the ball against the other.

It felt alien, and yet familiar at the same time. He had grown up wearing this armour, and he had seen most of his life through the filters of its visor. He had transfered most of the systems to his new helmet, but some of the basic tracking and recognition softwear still remained firmly intact. This was the armour he had lived in. This was the armour he had 'died' in. He could not bring himself to get rid of it. It was a comfort, a reminder of simpler times when all he had to worry about was doing what he had been trained to do.

The monitor on the workstation flared into life, and a counter appeared on the screen showing that they were twenty minutes from reversion to realspace. His hand continued to work automatically as he glanced away from the ball, still able to catch it and throw it while keeping it in his peripheral vision and the helmet systems tracing it each time. A flash of memory tore through the reality around him and he snapped his head back towards the ball. But it wasn't a ball anymore. It was a grenade, soaring across the dark, dust-filled air of the Geonosian caverns towards him. He raised his hands as a surge of fear doubled his heart rate, batting the grenade away.

Primal panic gripped his heart, and he felt the world closing in around him, boulders falling from the ceiling, blocking out the light, his breath strained and desperate.

He grabbed the sides of his helmet and wrenched it from his head, throwing it towards the end of his bunk as he gasped for air. The panic still surged through his body, his pulse racing, his heart hammering in his chest like rancor footfalls. His eyes were wide, everything around him seemingly brighter and more distinct than before. He knew the effects adrenalin had on the body, and he had learnt to use them in battle situations. But to feel it suddenly descend across his body while he was sat alone in his room with no way to vent was disturbing.

Inhaling sharply, he closed his eyes and held his breath, willing his heart to slow down else it break free from his chest. The panic and fear that had washed over him began to dissipate, but it was replaced by anger. Anger directed towards himself. How could he be so stupid as to let himself be effected so strongly by a trick of his own mind?

Opening his eyes once more, the gloom of the cabin had returned to normal around him, everything half hidden in the dim light. At the end of the bunk, laying on its side, the commando helmet stared back at him, empty, lifeless. And yet he could feel his own anger radiating out from it, as well as something else he could not pin down. It felt like it was blaming him, accusing him of breaking the unit bond that had sustained him throughout his entire life.

Had he really been the one to break the unit link? Had it all been his fault? He was the one who ordered Darman to stay behind with the E-web. He was the one who had run to Vin's side when he had been thrown across the cavern, leaving Jay without any cover fire. And he had been the one to throw the grenade that had brought down the cavern on them all.

But they would not have been in that position had the Jedi known how to deploy them correctly. They were thrown into a pit of gundarks, and then abandoned by their so called 'commanding officers'. Taler should have known there was something wrong when he had seen the Jedi apprentices, their so called padawans. They had already been given the rank of 'commander', and yet most of them were nothing more than children. Children. Given command over hardened elite forces, and then expected to know what they were doing?

Another wave of anger flooded Taler's body, this time directed at the Jedi and their so called republic. The republic was rotten to its core, a safe haven for the rich and the corrupt. They used slave soldiers to fight a war that they had no stake in, and when they became an inconvenience, they would be left for dead on some remote, outer rim world, cast aside, just like Taler had been.

Slowly pushing himself off the bunk, he gingerly reached out towards his old helmet, letting his fingers brush against the smooth, cold metal as though he was waiting for it to shock him. But it didn't. Scooping it up in his hands, he held it up in front of his face and stared into the distinctly similar T visor. He could almost see his brothres staring back at him from across the divide. Turing around, he opened up the cabinet above the workstation and placed the helmet on the shelf.

The comms chirped from the monitor on the workstation, and without even looking, Taler reached over and activated the link, audio only. A burst of static echioed around him, the comms still clogged by bugs it seemed. But then a familiar voice rang out through the hiss, a voice that did not calm him as much as he had hoped. He felt his jaw clench, the shadow of secrets lingering beneath the soft words.

"We're nearing the rendezvous, Tal'ika," Kyr'am said kindly. It took all his strength to stop himself yelling back and demanding to know what was happening. His insides were still roiling like hot lava at the memory of being cast aside and used. Was Kyr'am about to do the same? His fists clencehd tightly into balls of fury by his side, but he kept it from his voice.

"Just suiting up now, buir," he replied. "Will be there in five."

Taler felt his whole body quivering. He had never felt rage like this before. It was worse than the grief he had felt at the loss of his brothers. It was worse than the betrayal he had felt at watching the last Laati dropship leave without him. It was worse than the pain he had felt when he had lost his arm to a Nexu on Geonosis. And it was worse than the confusion that had pulsed through his body when his trust in Kyr'am had been shattered. He did not know how to deal with this much anger and rage, and even though his training sergeants had told him to never be a slave to his emotions - they would end up getting your whole team killed - he felt he was quickly losing control.

With shaking hands, he slowly began to attach his plates to his flight suit, sealing himself against blasters, grenades, and anything else that may try to destroy him. The anger would not leave him, and an unsettling calmness washed over him as his thoughts turned from the past to the future.  
Only one thing could vent these feelings that were rapidly clouding his mind.  
Vengence.  
He would find the people who had used him and his brothers. He would find the Jedi.  
He made a vow to himself there and then. If ever a force-fiddling hut'tuun was unlucky enough to ross his path, he would make them pay for the lives of those he had lost.  
And they would pay in blood.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**  
**An icy reception**

_Outer rim_  
_Hoth System_  
_Hoth_  
_Lnteel glacier_

Visibility was getting worse with each passing minute. A violent snow storm was descending across the northern reaches of the Lnteel glacier, a howling wind ripping at the frozen peaks, and sending plumes of snow and ice swirling into the air. Two speeders rested silently on their repulsors near the base of the nearest peak, parked beside the steep sided cliff in the hopes of finding some shelter.

The snow was beginning to make deep drifts against the sloping mountain, and the wailing of the wind rumbled across the desolate ice fields.

A lone figure stood a few meters from the speeders, a thick coat closed tightly around him, listening. Juel Suund, a Sullustan, was not used to the cold. He was struggling to control his shivering body as the wind seemed to wrap itself around him, finding all the openings it could and sneaking up against his skin. The hood of his coat refused to stay up, each time he lifted it, another gust of wind would rip it from his head. In the end, he had simply given up. It was blocking his ears anyway. The icy blasts of the raging storm tore across the glacier, ripping mercilessly at the aging Sullustan's greying skin. A mess of silver hair clung to his chin in a ragged beard, and his dark, orb-like eyes were narrowed against the force of the wind, squinting into the blinding white. Letting the blaster that was slung over his shoulder fall down by his side, he tugged his coat even tighter around himself in a futile attempt to stave off hypothermia, and sighed heavilly.

A small mound of snow beside him shivered into life, and as he looked down, he saw the Slice hound beside him shedding the snow that had covered its amber and brown body. It looked up at him pleadingly and seemed to whimper and grunt unhappily.

"I know it's cold," he yelled back incredulously, the volume of his voice meant to carry his words over the howling wind than to scorn the creature. "Do you really think I want to be out here any more than you do?"

The Slice hound just seemed to whimper dejectedly, shuffling its feet unhappily in the snow. The spines that ran down the length of its back lay flat against its fur, and its dark eyes turned away from Juel, its head hanging pathetically as it sniffed at the snow around its feet.

"Oh, stop complaining, Haze," he laughed, reaching down gently and scratching his fingers behind her ears. Haze closed her eyes and pressed back against his hand, growling happily as she leaned closer towards his leg. She felt warm, and the contact seemed to sooth both their nerves.

They had been a team ever since he had found her as a pub, wandering alone around the jungles of Dom-Bradden. Native to Corellia, Juel had no idea how the poor beast had come to be stranded on the outer rim planet, but he had taken her in, cared for her and fed her. She had been a little hostile at first - much like Juel's first and second wives - and he still had many of the scars on his hands to prove it. But eventually, she had grown to trust him, and they had been inseperable ever since.

They were more than master and pet. Together they made up the best tracking and communications team this side of galactic centre. With the Slice hound's sense of smell, and Juel's hearing, there was no target they could not find. And that's how they had landed this job.

"How we doing out here?" A fierce, confident voice rippled through the howling wind. Juel glanced casually over his shoulder, a half grin crossing his face as Haze continued to enjoy her ear being scratched. Through the billowing snow, a tall, slender figure appeared, walking with a seductive sway of her hips. The figure was obviously used to people jumping at the sound of her voice, a reputation for being stealthy woven long since associated with her name. But Juel had heard her approaching before she had even left the speeder ramp.

"Still nothing, captain," Juel yelled back, turning towards her as her figure seemed to fade into focus through the blizzard. Kendara Teal, captain, was a Devaronian, her long, pointy ears and soft white fur rippled lightly as the wind tore at her face, and a thick, fur-lined collar was closed neatly around her neck. She frowned, making the scar across her nose and cheek even more defined. Juel was always so suprised at how big a difference there was between male and female Devaronians, the harsh, horned, demon like males completely at odds to the, admittedly, attractive and sultry females.

But he put such thoughts out of his mind. They were irrelevant. He had been part of her crew for almost two years now, originally employed for a simple job of scavenging the remains of a downed freighter near Tattooine. That simple job had long since been forgotten, but his employ continued.

Something rustled far off to the east, and almost as quickly as he heard the crunch of snow under foot, Haze stiffened by his side, the spines down her back straightening and her eyes arrowing as her nostrills flared. Juel let his hand drop to the blaster rifle that hung by his side, his palm finding the grip and his finger slipping into the tigger guard.

"What is it?" Kendara said, suddenly tense, stepping closer to him and pulling out her own pistol. She had never been one to wait and see. Juel half closed his eyes for a moment, straining to hear what he could not see. Another crunch of freshly fallen snow beneath heavy foot falls echoed like a breath beneath the roaring gale. But his grip on his blaster relaxed, and he felt Haze sitting back down beside him.

"It's okay," he smiled. "Just a pack of Tauntauns heading south," he added, stroking Haze once more. The Slice hound growled happily once more, licking at his fingers. "It's the Wampa's you need to worry about. Big, nasty brutes they are. An old friend of mine was out here a few years back trying to catch one for the outer rim beast battles. Lost a whole pack of akk dogs just trying to bring this thing down. He lost a leg..."

"Are you quite done?" Kendara said impatiently, holstering her pistol again. Juel looked back at her. She had never been one to care much about anyone else other than herself. That's what probably made her a successful business woman, but it made her a lousy people-person. She may have looked attractive on the outside, but it merely hid the selfish, cruel personality within. Juel was used to it by now, and merely shrugged.

"Guess I am," he said non-plussed. Haze eyes Kendara suspiciously, obviously picking up on Juel's displeasure at being ignored. Juel just scratched behind her ear once more, letting her know that it was okay. Kendara looked around suspiciously, the talk of giant snow beasts had obviously spooked her more than she would care to admit. It would never do for her crew to see her on edge.

"Just keep listening, and let me know when you get something," she hissed, poking a finger hard against his chest. It was meant as a threatening gesture, but the thickness of his coat made it impossible to feel. Haze snarled angrilly, baring her teeth at the Devaronian.

"Easy, girl," Juel whispered. Kendara looked down at the snarling beast and snorted.

"And keep that thing under control," she added, turning away with a flourish and striding purposefully back towards the speeders, though a little faster than usual. Juel had to smile. No matter how much she tried to hide it, he now knew that she was afraid of the beasts that loomed in the blizzard.

Kneeling down beside his loyal pet, Juel started to fuss the creature, rubbing both ears as she looked up into his eyes and began to lick his face.

"You're a good girl, aren't you," he said playfully. A happy growl sang from her throat, and as Juel stood back up again and turned his head towards the snow obscured sky, Haze sat down again beside him, pressing herself up against his leg.

Another ten minutes passed in the never ending blizzard, and the snow once more almost burried Haze, covering her fur in a thick layer of frozen ice. Juel could feel his extremities beginning to chill, and the shivering was beyond control now. But it was better than being stuck inside the speeders with the captain and the rest of her idiot crew.

Something made his ear twitch, and he held his breath, trying to silence everything around him. Haze picked up on his sudden alertness and began to sniff the air around them, her whole body becoming tense. But it wasn't anything on the planet that had caught his attention. A gentle boom, almost inaudible beneath the raging storm had tickled the delicate hairs in his ears, and he looked skywards with a knowing smile. Something had dropped out of hyperspace and was now sitting in orbit.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his comlink and activated it. It beeped once, indicating the signal was live.

"Captain," he yelled over the storm. "They're here."

...

_YG-4210 freighter "Trail-breaker"_  
_Orbitting Hoth_

Sat in the pilot seat, Kyr'am watched as the dark ball of ice that was Hoth seemed to hang silently in the utter blackness of space. Small points of light sparkled in the distance, the blazing brilliance of stars thousands of times the size of planets, reduced to insignificant points of little interest. A burst of light flared across the curvature of th planet as the sun raced towards them, the day-side of the planet burning across the frozen ice fields below. Not that it made any difference, the planet was too far out for the light to have any effect on the climate. All it did was light the barren, desolate surface. The ship slipped over towards the light side of the planet, the cockpit view screen polarizing to shield Kyr'am's eyes from the glare of the distant sun.

Beside him, Sparky began to tweet and buzz as he scanned through the various comms chatter that still haunted a remote place like this. There was so much going on in the galaxy these days that even the once alienated outer rim sectors were seeing their fair share of hyperspace traffic, with war ships from both sides lancing through the systems en-route to the newest battle zone. Sparky had been able to intercept a lot of the stray chatter that had been clogging up the system of late, and with a little creative calculations, something the droid was especially good at, they had been able to plot the positions and courses of many of the republic and seperatist ships.

"It's getting awfully crowded in my sky," Kyr'am whispered to himself, reclining in his chair and pressing his clenched fist to his lips. The plotting system had served them well, allowing them to avoid any unnessessary republic searches, and seperatist raiding parties. But Kyr'am suddenly had the thought that they could turn a tidy profit by selling the information to either side.

The thought caught him off guard, and a bitter taste settled itself at the back of his mouth as he realised that he was starting to think like Relnar, like a Neimoidian. He shuddered visibly, shocking Sparky with his sudden movement. The droids domed head swivelled around sharply and the photo-receptor seemed to glare up at him.

"Sorry, Sparky," Kyr'am said, supressing another shiver that was threatening to race down his spine. "Just had a chill is all." The droid returned to stare unblinkingly at the monitors in front of it, the data spike rotating slowly as he continued to scan through the frequencies, looking for something specific.

Heavy footsteps began to echo from down the corridor, and as Kyr'am looked up at the polarized view screen, he saw the reflection of his son as he stepped through the narrow door into the cockpit. Kyr'am felt his shoulders sag as he looked up into Taler's face and saw nothing but the reflective red T visor of his helmet. A soft frown crossed his face as it became more clear than ever that Taler was hiding from him.

Maybe hiding the true nature of this job from his son had been a mistake. Kyr'am knew that Taler had issues with trust, and that he was also a keen observer of subtle gestures. All good soldiers were. It was the difference between being ready for a fight, and being able to stop one before it got started. Taler had been grown to fight, and had been part of an army where everyone had the same face, so naturally he would have grown up being able to detect the slighest of differences. In hindsight, it was pointless trying to hide anything from the boy. Something had happened on Narr Shaddaa that had shaken his confidence, and Kyr'am keeping information from him had obviously not helped.

But the resolution to that problem would have to wait. They had a job to do.

"Anything?" Taler asked, his voice calm and even, all traces of emotion hidden beneath the opaque visor and the modulator of the voice amplifier.

"Nothing yet," Kyr'am replied. "Just waiting for the homing beacon so we can begin our approach." Sparky squeaked something about still scanning the frequencies down by his side. An awkward silence descended on the cockpit. Taler stood like a statue in the doorway, his movements and his words all guarded, as though he feared saying something. Kyr'am found himself looking up at his refelction, wanting desperately to know the right words to make his son trust him again. Perhaps he should tell him the truth about this cargo. He deserved to know after all. He had just deceided he would tell him, and he was on the verge of opening his mouth and letting it all flow out when a gentle chirping noise began to sing from the central console.

Looking down, he saw that the navigational computer had picked up the homing beacon, and Sparky was already plotting a course to follow it down to the icy planet beneath.

"I'll go and secure the cargo for landing," Taler said quickly from behind him. By the time Kyr'am had turned back around to look at Taler, he caught the final glimpse of him as he dissappeared down the corridor towards the cargo bays. The moment had passed, and he had lost his chance.

"Shab," Kyr'am hissed loudly to himself, huffing out an irritated grunt.

Sparky's dome spun around and seemed to stare up at him, uncertain why he was upset. He tweeted rapidly, explaining how everything was going to plan with the drop.

"I know, Sparky," Kyr'am said sadly. He glanced once more up at the polarised canopy above him, watching the empty doorway and the corridor beyond. He did not know what he had expected to see there, maybe an answer he had not yet thought about. But he saw nothing. He was floundering in a sea of questions and uncertainty, but he had to put that behind him for now. He had a job to do, and he neeeded to be focused on it.

After this job, he would sit Taler down and explain everything to him, man to man, as he should have done from the start. The lad had been lied to all his life. Kyr'am owed him the truth, it was the least he could do. It may not completely repair the broken trust between them, but it was a start.

Reaching over to the internal comms controls, Kyr'am opened a channel to the cargo bays and waited for the usual pop-hiss to quieten down before speaking.

"How we doing, son?" He asked. There was a few seconds of silence before Taler replied.

"All secure," he announced, not wastting any words that were not needed. It was his training, keep everything short and to the point.

"Copy that," Kyr'am replied. "Taking her down." Turning his attention to the rest of the controls, he took hold of the yolk in front of him and pulled it back fromits cradle, feeling it shudder as it locked into place, engaging the maneuvering thrusters. The course flickered up on the screen in front of him and he eased the throttles forward.

Hoth began to grown in the view screen as the ship angled towards it and began to descend through the atmosphere. The radiant ribbons of colour that made up the polar aurora rippled across the ionosphere, the stars twinkling out of existence as the glorious blue sky of the upper stratosphere enveloped them in daylight. But it was short lived.

The clouds grew thicker and the light dimmed as they descended into the blizzard that obscured the landing zone, and Kyr'am found himself wrestling with the controls as visibility became zero. Dull, grey light surrounded the ship, the polarized canopy brightening rapidly and the twinkling controls around him growing brighter in the gloom. Snow and hail hammered against the outside of the hull, the ship bucking and shuddering beneath him, the deck vibrating violently. Kyr'am almost thought the ship was trying to rip itself apart.

"You might want to hold on to something," he announced, the link to the cargo bay still active. A dull thud echoed through the speakers as something solid and heavy crashed against the bulkhead somewhere near the back of the ship.

"Thanks for the warning," Taler grunted back.

Sparky whined nervously beside him.

Kyr'am ignore him. He needed all the concentration he could muster. Every other thought left his mind. Clenching his jaw tight, he prepared himself for one of the most difficult landings he had been forced to make in a long time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part 4**  
**An icy reception**

_Outer rim_  
_Hoth System_  
_Hoth_  
_Lnteel glacier_

Taler felt the ship shuddering to a halt as it dropped down hard onto its landing struts, the dampers taking the strain of the extra weight of their cargo, the drives shuting down and the groaning legs creaking beneath the hull. A gentle ticking rand out from the bulkheads around him as the heated metal began to cool after their descent through the atmosphere. The whining of the engines faded away into quiet nothing, leaving him standing alone in silence near the loading ramp controls, the dim glow of the orange illuminators above his head his only light. There were no view ports in the cargo bay, but across from where he stood he could see the holding cells. His hand was stretched up to the girder above his head, gripping it tightly between his cybernetic fingers, steadying himself during the rough landing.

In his ear, he could hear the whisper of a weak, but open comms channel. The storm outside was interfering with the communications array, throwing up a wall of static that was almost as bad as the gale that was now hammering against the outside of the battered and aging hull. His hand moved slowly towards the ramp controls, but it stopped a few inches from the actual panel, waiting for the signal to say it was all clear to begin offloading.

This was the first time he had ever taken part in a cargo transfer, legal or otherwise, and it felt a little too underhanded. He had been trained to be a soldier, a killer. To take out his enemy without thought or conscience. Whether it was slotting them from over two miles away using a long range sniper rifle or choking the last breath out of them with his bare hands, he knew that he could do it and then move on to the next job in hand with no qualms. It was the only life he knew.

But now, he felt so uncomfortable. Something about transporting cargo that he had no idea where it had come from, or where it was going, or even what was inside the crates, left him feeling nervous. Perhaps it was the lack of intel? He remembered his training sergeant back on Kamino saying that intel was usually always wrong, but knowingthey had a rough idea had always been a comfort to Taler. Theyhad even joked that intel was like bedtime stories to them. This job, though, was unknown. He was walking into it blind.

He had no idea how many beings would be waiting for them at the bottom of the ramp, what kind of armaments they might have, the size of their ship, or even their psychological evaluation. Any one of those factors could tip the scales in their favour, and Taler was beginning to tire of always being kept in the dark. The last few days had worn him down. He was feeling tired, aggitated, and raw.

Trust, the one thing he had always been able to count on - the trust in his superiors, the trust in his brothers, the trust in his new father - had vanished, leaving only the bitter taste of loneliness like the residual stench of ozone at the end of a fierce and bloody battle.

The more he dwelled, the more difficult it became to seperate himself from that state of mind. He had never been taught about these feelings, or how to cope with them. Their trainers had never expected them to have to deal with these emotions. But that's the thing about war, it changes a being in ways that you could never foresee. The more he dwelt on the past, the more he realised all the mistakes that had taken place. The cloners had failed to create perfectly obidient soldiers. The republic had failed to prevent a war that was slowly pulling the galaxy apart. And the jedi... The jedi had failed him and his brothers.

A familiar anger began to bubble up inside his chest, an anger that he was becoming so used to that it was beginning to worry him. He needed to get rid of it, but he knew that he would never be able to purge the white-hot rage until he could avenge his brothers. For now, all he could do was clamp down on it and try to ignore the feelings that were slowly pulling him apart. He had to focus on the job in hand.

The sooner the crates were gone, the sooner he could...

Could what? Get back to normal? That wasn't going to happen, not after Nar Shaddaa. Not after Geonosis. Not after Kamino. Nothing about his life would ever be normal. He was a clone, bred to die.

A burst of painfully loud static tore through his helmet comms, and hidden beneathbit, barely audible, Taler could hear a voice.

"Droyk," the voice said, a howling wind threatening to steal the words from the air before they reached the transmitter. A few seconds passed before Taler heard Kyr'am's voice cut across with the reply code-word.

"Chakaar," he said calmly. Taler had heard that word before. He was sure it was Mando'a for 'thief'. Codes had been exchanged, it was time to offload. "Open her up, Tal'ika," Kyr'am said finally. "I'll be there in a few."

"Roger that," Taler replied. His palm pressed against the ramp controls, and with a loud thunk and a hiss, the ramp dropped away from the deck, a flurry of snow and an icy blast of frozen air swirled up into the cargo bay. The dim orange glow spilled out into the stormy air beyond, a rectangle of warmth reflecting off the icy surface of the glacier beneath them. Taler turned and walked towards the first crate that was waiting near the top of the ramp and slapped a repulsor plate onto the side. It hummed and a green light flickered into life as it powered up, and the crate lifted a few inches off the deck. Moving around behind it, he began to push it out down the ramp, and he stepped out into a frozen world.

...

Juel stood beside the speeders, the wind still roaring across the glacier and whipping tiny shards of ice across his face, each feeling like a needle stabbing into his skin. The freighter was looming ahead of them, the outline nothing more than an imposing grey shape just beyond his visibility as the storm drew in around them. A burst of orange light had appeared beneath the stern of the ship, and Haze, his loyal slice hound, had instantly become alert. Her ears had pricked up and she sniffed noisily at the air as a large, white-armoured figure emerged, walking down the ramp towards them, pushing one of their floating crates.

"Easy girl," Juel whispered softly, reaching down and stroking just behind Haze's ear. But Juel wasn't one to be caught offguard. He tightened his grip on the rifle that was strapped across his chest, just in case.

Foot steps crunched through the snow behind him, and even without turning around, Juel recognised them as belonging to the captain. Kendara strode past him confidently, coming to a stop a few metres ahead, her hands on her hips. As the figure reached the bottom of the ramp and began to cross the glacier towards them, Juel saw them resolve into the form of a Mandalorian, the distinctive 'T' visor unmistakable. Another figure appeared at the top of the ramp, pushing another crate, out into the snow.

Kendara signaled two of the Aqualish crew forwards, a repulsor trolley between them, and the first Mandalorian lined the crate up with it before slapping the repulsor plate that was mounted on the side. The crate dropped heavily onto the trolley and the Mandalorian just turned away silently, stalking back through the ankle deep snow towards the loading ramp to fetch the next crate. The second figure followed suit, lining up the second crate with the trolley and letting it drop into place. The Aqualish turned and began hauling the trolley back to the first speeder, grumbling complaints about the cold and the weight, the second Mandalorian figure left standing face to face with the Devaronian captain.

"Captain," the blue armoured Mandalorian said in greeting. Kendara sniffed disapprovingly, looking down on the broad shouldered man. Juel knew her well enough by now to know when she was irritated. Waiting for so long in the cold was not her idea of fun, though Juel had to admit he had enjoyed the time away from the rest of the crew, even if he had now lost all feeling in his fingers.

"Bounty hunter," she said acidly. She seemed to have taken an instant dislike to him, as though his career choice was offensive to her. Juel found that odd, considering she had made her name smuggling goods across planitary borders and through blockades. Neither seemed more legal than the other. "You took your time getting here," she grumbled, glaring down at him from her one good eye. The Mandalorian looked up at her, his head tilting to the side as though he was an art critic, regarding her like some obscure sculpture they were trying to comprehend.

"All good things come to those who wait, sweet cheeks," he replied, mockingly. "And i'm pretty sure you would have waited a lot longer for whats in these crates. Pretty expensive kit you're haulin' there."

"You opened them?" Kendara spat back with outrage, her hand dropping instantly to her holstered blaster. But the Mandalorian was quicker. He had already drawn his sidearm and was lining it up from his hip. She froze.

"Easy now," the Mandalorian soothed, but a silent warning in his voice. "I didn't need to open them," he added, tapping the side of his helmet. Any bounty hunter worthy of the name always had all the tools he needed, and his helmet had obviously been rigged with penetrating scanners. "But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Kendara looked over the Mandalorian's shoulder at the other figure as he pushed another crate from inside the hull.

"And what about your partner?" She growled. The Mandalorian slipped his pistol back into his holster, but his hand never left the grip.

"A jobs a job," the Mandalorian said simply.

"That supposed to be a reasurance?" Kendara grunted.

"He doesn't have any interest in your cargo," he said coldly. "He doesn't know what you have here, or where they're going," he whispered. He glanced back over his shoulder at his white armoured colleague, and it looked as though he almost sighed.

"Doesn't know, or hasn't been told?" Kendara asked, folding her arms across her chest and grinning maliciously. The Mandalorian rounded on her rapidly, glaring out from behind his opaque visor.

"What's it to you?" He growled.

"Do i detect a hint of mistrust?" Kendara grinned. The Mandalorian tensed visibly.

"Watch your mouth, fur-face," he hissed. Obviously she had struck a nerve. "I've taken on bigger mugs than you, and dropped them off the edge of the galaxy without even breaking a sweat. Don't push me. Just load up your cargo and get out of here."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," Kendara sneered. The blue armoured bounty hunter turned on his heels, his long brown coat billowing behuind him in the wind, and began walking back towards the ship as his partenr dragged another to the halfway point between the two crews. Kendara remained where she stood, defiant, determined to see her cargo safely loaded, despite the cold.

Juel seemed to have been forgotten, the conversation taking pace without him. He turned away, looking back towards the speeders as they waited to be loaded, dreading the moment when they would have to return to the ship.

Haze sniffed even louder at the howling wind, and seemed to be getting aggitated. She whimpered lightly, her feet pawing at the frozen snow, her ears lowering against the spines on her neck as she squinted through the opressive snow.

"What is it girl?" Juel asked, kneeling down beside her, stroking the soft fur behind her ears. She had not been this aggitated for a very long time, and as her whining grew louder, she drew back her lips to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth, the whine becoming a fierce growl. Juel felt his ears twitch and he finally heard the gentle brush of feet on snow. They were almost invisible, lost to the howling winds that crashed across the glacier. But they were there, and they were deliberate.

He rose rapidly, his grip tightening on his rifle, and he called out to the captain as a shadowy, robed figure emerged from the blizzard.

...

"Captain," a voice cried out across the glacier. "Contact!" Kyr'am was half way back to the ship when the audio enhancements to his helmet picked up the startled cry. He turned around sharply, his hand instantly dropping to the holstered pistol on his thigh. But he wasn't fast enough. He heard the familiar click of a blaster being primed and as he came to face the Devaronian and her crew, she had already levelled her weapon, aiming for the centre of his chest.

"Something you forgot to tell me?" She sneered. She did not turn away from him, prefering to let her watch out keep tabs on the new development, and concentrate her attention on him.

"News to me," Kyr'am said plainly, letting his hand float a little away from his blaster, turning them plam up in a sign of begrudging surrender. "I'm as shocked as you are."

She snorted, an ugly grin crossing her face as she doubted his words. He let himself look away from the blaster, noticing the icon at tghe top of his visor. It showed Taler's perspective, and he noticed he was not moving, the two Aqualish holding him at gunpoint. Taler didn't seem phased by it, his attention on his adopted father. But Kyr'am also knew what any trained soldier would do if they had a gun pushed into their face.

Steady, son, he thought to himself. Looking over the Devaronian's shoulder - he knew whatever she tried to do, his armour would protect him from most projectiles, for a few seconds at least - he squinted to see what all the comotion was about. Up ahead, he could see the Sullustan with his rifle pressed against his shoulder, edging slowly forwards, his pet arching its back as it growled angrilly at the blizzard. For a moment he was uncertain what was happening, but slowly, a figure emerged from the wall of white.

Their gait was slow and deliberate, each step placed firmly in front of the last, with no attempt at stealth or conceilment. Whoever it was, wanted everyone there to know that they were meant as no threat, that much was clear. But Kyr'am had seen enough in his life to know that anyone who was not ivited to a part like this one was either very lost and extremely unlucky, or they knew exactly what they were doing and were suffing from some sort of arrogance that made them believe themselves to be untouchable. And there was only one type of being that seemed to fit that description.

His eyes widened in realisation as the shadowy, undefined shape morphed into a brown-robed, hooded figure, and he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

"You're quite difficult to locate, Captain," the figure said clearly, their voice gravelly, and yet carrying easily through the blowing gale. "But i would have been disappointed with only a feeble hunt."

"Do i know you?" Kendara hissed, finally turning away from Kyr'am as she realised that the figure was addressing her. Kyr'am moved his hand closer to his holster, but made no attempt to draw it. Not yet.

"No, but that does not matter," the figure replied. "Kendara Teal, you and your crew are under arrest for high treason against the galactic republic, transporting weapons bound for Seperatist millitia across interplanetary borders."

Kyr'am knew what kind of effect that news would have on Taler. They had been carrying weapons that were to be used against the clone armies, against his brothers. He saw him tense visibly, and his head lowered as though he were glaring out through his blood red visor at Kyr'am.

"Stand down and prepare to be taken into custody," the figure added finally. The Devaronian looked shocked for a moment, but then her face cracked and she smiled a vicious grin.

"You and what army?" She spat back acidly.

"I don't need an army," the figure whispered. They reached up and drew back their hood, revealing the wide, orange-skinned face of a Quarren. In one swift motion, they reached inside their robes and drew out a small cylinder that burst into life, a blazing shaft of yellow light humming with that distinctive, horror inducing thrum.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**  
**Blood on the ice**

_Outer rim_  
_Hoth System_  
_Hoth_  
_Lnteel glacier_

Jedi.

The word tore through Taler's mind as he watched the shimmering yellow blade of the lightsabre bursting into life. The deep, thruming sounds of the pulsating beam silenced the storm around them, and all Taler could see was the outline of the Quarren as he stood before him, his hand stretching out, and a shockwave rippling through the snow covered floor towards him. He barely had time to register it before the force push slammed into his chest and he felt himself being picked up off the ground and thrown across the glacier.

He tumbled rapidly, crashing down onto the hard, compacted ice a few meters from where he had been standing. Adrenalin and hatred coursed through his veins, and he felt his whole body begin to tremble with unrestrcted rage. Looking up towards the robed jedi, he saw another half dozen beings racing out from the speeders, their weapons raised. The Devaronian had obviously kept a few others of her men hidden in case this would happen.

"We've been sold out," a harsh voice cracked across the windy glacier. The sharp sting of blaster bolts seared through the air, and Taler looked up to see the Devaronian captain turning her blaster on Kyr'am. "Kill the Mandos," she screamed. Taler watched as she pulled thr trigger on her blaster and a stream of bolts tore through the air towards Kyr'am, slamming into his chest and shoulder as he dived for cover. Taler was already dragging himself to his knees when a volley of red peppered the snow beside him. The two Aqualish who had been covering him were kneeling in the snow near him, having been thrown themselves, and were now aiming directly for him.

Their shots were erratic, but the ones that did manage to hit him simply bounced off his toughened armour. Two tore through the synthetic skin that ccovered his cybernetic hand, revealing the metalic framework beneatah, and the stench of scorched wiring slipped through his helmet air vent system.

Chaos had erupted around him, and he could no longer control his rage. Drawing his brother's DC-15s' from their holsters on his thigh, he levelled the first one on the nearest Aqualish and clamped down hard on the trigger. A line of searing plasma tore through the air between them and burnt a hole through the aliens face, snapping its head back sharply and sending the limp body tumbling backwards. Taler kicked down hard off the ground and raced towards the second, ejecting his gauntlet mounted blade and throwing himself towards the gunman. The Aqualish seemed to cry out in surprise, but it was silenced almost instantly as Taler barreled into him and felt his blade sink into the soft flesh of its neck.

A gurgled, pained scream died before it had even emerged from the creatures mouth. Looking around, he saw Kyr'am kneeling behind a stack of crates, exchanging gunfire with the Devaronian captain. He knew deep down he should go and help him, but the flurry of green light to his right drew his attention and he felt his blood boiling in his chest. He had never felt this kind of pain and anguish before, and he knew there was only one way he could free himself from its grip.

Checking once more that Kyr'am was still holding his own, he gritted his teeth and set his sights on the jedi.

...

The world had been turned upside down, and Juel pressed his hands down into the soft snow, lifting himself up out of the snow drift he had been thrown into by the invisible wall of energy. He coughed painfully, the force of the Jedi's attack having knocked all the wind from his lungs. Looking up, he could see his rifle a few meters away from him, lying in the snow, and a few meters beyond that was the motionless body of Haze.

"No," he whispered suddenly.

Scurrying across the ice on all fours, he raced to her side, scooping up his rifle as he passed it. Dropping down beside her, he reached out and put his hand on her side

"Come on, girl," he said softly, panic in his words. "Stay with me." The Slice hound was lying on her side in the snow, her ribs moving up and down, but her breathing sounding erratic and strained. Juel could hear her heart in her chest, and it was racing faster than he had ever heard before.

Something was not right. He looked all over her fur covered body, looking for any obvious sign of injury, and though he could not see anything at first, there seemed to be something that didnt feel right. Running his hand along her back leg, he heard her whimper loudly, and she almost spun around to snap at his hand.

"Whoa," he said sharply, using his other hand to hold her down. "Easy now." Gently sliding his hand along her back leg, he instantly felt what was wrong. Her hip had been dislocated. When she had been thrown, she had crashed into a pile of crates and it had knocked her bacck leg out of its socket. She must have been in agony.

Juel was about to slide the leg back into place when he was knocked sideways onto the floor, a burning pain spreading through his shoulder like fire through the forests of Kashyyyk. A stray blaster bolt, batted aside by the Jedi had slammed into his shoulder and seared through the skin. He inhaled sharply, cursing with every word he had ever learnt. Haze tried to get up and protect him, but yelped sorrowfully as she fell back into the snow.

They had to get some cover. Clamping down hard on the pain that was rapidly spreading through his body, Juel got to his knees and crawled towards his stranded companion. Slipping his good arm around her, he dragged her across the snow towards the fallen pile of crates. Every movement sent waves of fresh agony pulsing through his shoulder and chest, and Haze whined and growled louder as her dislocated leg seemed to trail behind her at an unnatural angle.

Blaster bolts tore through the air, and the screams of the Aqualish seemed to float across the wind swept glacier, broken by the piercing stoccatto of gunfire and the ominous vrrmmm of the sweeping lightsabre. Juel dragged himself and Haze the last few metres to the pile of crates, and tucked his loyal hound in the makeshift shelter, draping himself carefully across her.

As he lay there panting heavilly, the slice hound lifted her muzzle to his cheek and softly licked at his cheeks. He looked down at her and smiled.

"I know you'd do the same for me, girl," he whispered, rubbing his fingers behind her ear.

Another flurry of deflected bolts tore through the air barely inches above his head, and he could feel their hear searing the delicate skin around his ears. The battle was not going well. Looking up over the top of the crate, he saw the captain exchanging fire with the blue armoured Mandalorian. His white armoured accomplice was tacking two of the Aqualish grunts, and now only four of the others were left fighting the jedi, the lifeless bodies of the other two rapidly being hidden by the falling snow. Struggling with waves of pain still brning through his scorched shoulder, Juel lifted his rifle, placed it on top of the flat box, and levelled it on the Jedi, squeezing the trigger.

...

Kyr'am ducked as another worryingly accurate shot cracked against the side of the crate he was using for cover. Each blistering bolt of energy seemed to be moving closer with each passing second. Crouching down, he quickly glanced out around the crate and saw a flash of red explode in front of his eyes. His head was kicked back sharply and he felt himself fall into the soft snow behind him. He had just sustained a direct hit to the face, right below where his eye was. Had he not been wearing his helmet, he was certain he would have been dead.

Groaning loudly inside his sealed helmet, he rolled himself back into cover behind the crates, the visor in front of him flickering wildly as it struggled with the damage it had just sustained. The filters kept changing without warning, and it was making his head spin.

Darkness began to fade in from the edges of his vision, but he was not losing consciousness, the impact had not been enough for that. It was with a winking feeling that he realised it was the visor, and not his eyes, that was beginning to fail.

It spread rapidly across his field of vision, and with a final burst of static, everything went dark, a vague image of the frozen world beyond his helmet barely visible through the polarized, technology loaded screen.

Popping the seals, he ripped the helmet from his head and let it fall into the snow beside him. Without the environmental controls of his armour, he suddenly felt the biting cold of the blizzard tearing at his skin, and the thunderous roar of the wind, cut across sharply by the violent cries of battle. It was deafening.

The crate behind him shuddered as yet more bolts crashed into the metal container, the Devaronian obviously not happy with only winging him. Kyr'am had to admit, though grudgingly, that she was a good shot. Picking up the blaster that had fallen from his hand when he fell, he reached into his belt pocket and pulled out an ear-mounted comlink, slipping it over his ear as he struggled to hear it as it crackled into life. Listening carefully, his brow creased in concentration, he tried to compensate for the lack of tech he was now forced to work with. It was not the ideal situation, but his father had taught him how to fight when all he had was a blade and the conviction to survive.

A soft click echoed in his ear as the comlink finally locked onto a signal.

"Sparky," he yelled, trying to make his voice heard above the din. "Sparky, are you receiving?" There was nothing but static that greeted his outcry, and another violent shudder ripped through the crates.

Ducking aside, he threw himself on the floor and aimed at the source of the gunfire, his own shots searing through the air bare millimetres to the left of the Devaronian captain's ears. She ducked for cover. Kyr'am scrambled back behind the crates and tapped the comlink again.

"Sparky, code seven," he barked. "I repeat, code seven. Sparky, answer me!" Still there was nothing. Something was really wrong. Off in the distance, he could just about see the outline of the ship as the blizzard continued to tear across the glacier. The loading ramp was still down, but there was no sign of the small astromech. Code seven was an automatic lock down of the ship, but it remained stubournly still.

A soft clink echoed above him, like something delicate hitting something hard. An object fell to the floor beside him, and rolled a few feet away before stopping in the soft snow. Kyr'am's eyes widened as he watched the grenade lights start to blink out.

He didn't think, he just reacted. Reaching out, he scooped up the grenade and sent it soaring high over the crates, back towards the Devaronian. An instant later, he leaned around the edge of his makeshift barrier and caught sight of her standing up, her head angled up towards the incoming bomb. Her arm was rapidly moving up to aim at the device. Kyr'am levelled the sights of his blaster between her eyes and squeezed the trigger at the exact instant she did.

The grenade erupted in a golden ball of flames, expanding rapidly and a wash of scorched air streaming across his face. He squinted through the glare and watched as his own shot tore through the air and sliced cleanly through the Devaronian's good eye. Her head kicked backwards sharply, and her limp body fell to the ground.

A blur of red and white streaked through the blizzard and Kyr'am felt his blood turn to ice.

...

Taler's blood was boiling in his veins, his heart hammering against his ribs like artillery shells. His boots crunched loudly beneath him as they crashed against the icy surface of the glacier, his side arms holstered and his DC-17m gripped tightly in both hands.

There were only two more Aqualish left fighting the jedi, the blood soaked bodies of the other four lying motionles in the snow, steam rising from their rapidly cooling flesh. The Jedi was batting aside all the blaster bolts that were aimed towards him, some of them directly back towards the Aqualish, others just anywhere. Stray bolts seared through the air around them, some even deflecting off Taler's thick chest plate.

Another Aqualish fell to the floor with a gurgled scream, his own blaster bolt deflected back towards him, slicing mercilessly through his neck. There was only one left now.

Taler picked up speed, racing faster to cover the ground between himself and the Jedi. He had not noticed him yet, or he had and simply did not consider him to be a threat. That type of arrogance was typical of the jedi, and all it did was fuel Taler's rage.  
An explosion erupted somewhere to his right, and as the blinding orange light of a miniature sun seemed to brighten the twilight of the storm, the last Aqualish fell soundlessly to the floor. There was no one left between himself and the Jedi.

It was now or never.

All thought left his mind. Everything that had happened to him since that fateful day on Geonosis became a distant memory. Raxus Prime, the 'Wrath of Telos', Hydra-corp, Nar Shaddaa, and the green armoured female Mando, they slipped to the darkened recesses of his thoughts. All cares for himself evaporated, leaving only a single, cold, clear purpose.

Vengence.

Vengence for his brothers.

The Jedi glaced at the explosion, distracted, and Taler lowered his head like a charging rancor. An in-human, primal scream bellowed from his throat, and in the last seconds, he finally saw the eyes of the Quarren Jedi. They widened sharply, and he tried to extend his hand as though summoning a force push.

But he was too late.

Taler barreled into him, his shoulder cruching against the Quarren's ribs, his arms closing around it middle, and sending both tumbling over the edge of the glacer into the never ending white.


End file.
